At First Blush
by Brit-bound
Summary: Petruchio and Kate discover a new facet to their relationship while attending a weekend retreat at Chequers.


B&D, she thought halfway through the meal.

Glancing to her right, Katherine, Lady Charlbury, member of Parliament and

Leader of the Opposition, could see her handsome husband seated across from her and two seats down. Precisely between Lady Buxley and Cynthia Lockland and facing Madeline Owens, whose husband was threatening – in his usual understated way, of course – to block action she needed on the upcoming EU response.

"Bored & Dangerous" described Piers, Lord Charlbury, perfectly at the moment, and she experienced that all-too-familiar little knot just below her breastbone that put her on high alert.

To begin with, he hadn't wanted to make the trip; although, come to that, nor had she. But it wasn't good politic to turn down an invitation from the Prime Minister to spend a weekend in "consultation" at Chequers.

They would be missing their usual Sunday morning outing at the park with the boys and Piers had pouted all the way down. She had double-checked his luggage to make sure he didn't bring along the fishnets and eyeliner – something he was prone to do when thwarted. Or nervous. Or bored.

There was no sign of them, however, so if he was going to misbehave, he would at least be doing it in proper attire.

And just now he did, indeed, look ever so proper, she admitted, stealing a glance at him while nodding to some inane comment from the dinner partner on her right. Ever so proper. And ever so devastatingly beautiful in his excellently cut dinner jacket. And ever so completely hers.

Seven years after the 'lift' he had offered for her political future, she still couldn't get enough of him on the home front.

He had, she admitted, been perfectly charming since their arrival. Three hundred years and sixteen generations of aristocratic breeding did tell – even when the 6-year-old in him took over. Believe it or not, he was a gentleman, even if she could have penned a book – no, wait, make that several volumes – detailing his oft-times decidedly ungentlemanly behavior.

Just now, he was putting away the final bite of beef on his platinum-rimmed plate. And eyeing his anorexic neighbor's scarcely touched meal speculatively.

Katherine's disaster antenna went on full alert and she automatically leaned toward him slightly and willed him to look at her.

Which he did. Complete with that devastatingly handsome little-boy grin that caused the scar just above his lip to distract her temporarily. She promised herself to aim a kiss at it later, if he was a very good boy right now. And probably even if he wasn't, she admitted to herself.

But at the moment, she needed to head off disaster. It was a simple message she delivered – a pointed look at the temptingly-filled china near his right hand and an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

It was a simple message received – the long-fingered hand glided gracefully back toward his own place setting and he swallowed the temptation to clean the skinny blonde's plate for her.

He would exert great self-control in this stuffy, pretentious, mind-numbing company and do his wife proud.

He even signaled his intention to behave properly by giving her a lazy and very private wink.

At least, she thought that's what he was conveying. And she relaxed into that thought for a full 30 seconds before it occurred to her that the action was open to another interpretation entirely.

But by then she was much too far behind in the game to make the slightest difference in the final score.

"I understand we'll be taking another look at the home discipline issue next week," John Minor said from his place on a left diagonal to Piers. "The Royal College is pushing for a ban again. But the electorate's divided, the polls say."

The topic turned attention Minor's way but no one offered a personal opinion on the subject. So Minor sought one out.

"Charlbury, you're not a pol. So give us your thoughts – as a representative of England's finest families, you might say. Does a good old-fashioned spanking find favor in your house?"

Well, Katherine thought with faint surprise, there was a conversation starter one didn't normally hear in political circles. If Minor was depending on her husband to keep the verbal ball rolling, however, he would be in for a letdown. There was only one answer daddy Piers could give and it would be short and sweet and negative.

"Most certainly," Piers responded.

And the sip of wine she had just tasted threatened to go down entirely the wrong way. What did he mean "most certainly"? The boys had never felt a disciplinary hand applied to their little posteriors and probably never would. For starters, their father was the appallingly guilty instigator and model for most of their mischief and he knew it well. So though he was quite excellent at bluster and threats, he relied entirely on time outs and missed opportunities – theirs, not his - to keep control of the trio.

And while she had been known, on more than one memorable occasion, to connect the palm of her hand with a masculine cheek, it had always been a beard-possible face she took aim at.

"Really," Minor mused. "So you do support a firm hand, shall we say, within the confines of the family abode?"

"I thought most people did," Piers responded with a completely innocent look that signaled approaching disaster. "We certainly find it most effective and rather imperative to the happy state of our home."

"Well, I'm not sure about most people," Minor intoned. "I am, personally, rather at odds with your view. And I must point out that if a clear majority were to share it, we probably wouldn't have to keep having this discussion about government involvement. But, then again, I'm just the father of a single grown daughter, so our perspectives may differ. I suppose if I had a house full of lively little boys – it's three, isn't it? – I might think an occasional smack on their bottoms was in order, too." And he chuckled at the table for twelve.

.

She saw it coming.

She was helpless to prevent it.

She closed her eyes and prayed.

Faith failed her.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon. I'm afraid I misunderstood you completely," her biggest little boy interjected with a nasty grin. "I thought we were talking about Kate's bottom."

And ten heads with arched brows and open mouths swiveled toward her as rich red color climbed from her chin to her brow.

Fish net stockings, she thought, would have been a blessing at this point.

"How could you?" she hissed within the confines of their guest room.

"How could I what?" he demanded innocently while he obligingly unzipped her dress. "He was joking, wasn't he? I thought it was all in fun. Come on now, my love. Kiss me, Kate."

"You pillock. You bloody, blasted booby. You … you imbecilic moron. Do you know what the headlines will say about this tomorrow?"

He paused in an effort to push the dress off her shoulders as she stood in front of the mirrored dressing table, snatching off the few items of jewelry she reluctantly wore on occasions such as this.

Assuming a meditative stance, he considered. "Oh, I don't know, something about 'a spanking good time was had by all.'"

She snarled and he abandoned any effort to help her further undress, turning his attention to removing his own jacket.

"How can I possibly be in control of my party if they think I go in for – for …"

"For what?" he asked with a rakishly cocked eyebrow as he removed his cuff links and tossed them toward her open jewel box on the dressing table.

"You know for what. Did you have to make me the star of that peculiarly British fantasy?" she demanded as she struggled out of her slip.

"Aha, it's the fantasy part that bothers you," he chuckled, unknotting his tie and pulling it free.

"No, it's you that bothers me. I can't take you anywhere. I can't trust you for a moment. You're going to ruin me," she spat out as she unhooked her bra and reached for her gown.

"Why would I ruin you? I adore you. I love everything about you. You mesmerize me, Lady Charlbury. You haunt me. You make me want to do all kinds of wicked things."

"Well, you can forget about that. You can certainly forget about whatever it is that's going through your sex-obsessed brain right now. You know we've never … well, I've certainly never … though who can say about you, you beast. But it has never crossed my mind to even consider …"

"Now, now, Kate," he cautioned, wagging a finger at her. "You're very close to crossing a line here. I warn you. And you really should practice some basic intellectual honesty where your sexual preferences are concerned. I can read the signals. I know you've been waiting – hoping – wondering what it would be like to go over my knee."

"You have finally done it," she stormed. "You have lost your mind. And you've lost something else as well, Crick, because I'm not letting you anywhere near me after what you just did at dinner tonight. You're going to be in your own personal sexual timeout for the next 20 years," she threatened, wheeling around to face him with her gown still clenched in furious fists.

"Oh, Kate. Now that's a mistake. Yes, that is definitely a mistake on your part, but I won't hold it against you this time. Just say you're sorry and I'll forgive you for not being nice to me," he offered with his arms spread wide.

"Say I'm sorry? Dream on, my lord," she spit out, thrusting her furious face upward toward his. "You'll be sorry you ever …"

And that was the moment he moved with amazing speed to push her lacy little panties toward her knees, pull her against his chest and deliver a stinging smack to her bare bottom.

She sucked in her breath – partly in outrage, partly in surprise, partly in pain, partly in something else she didn't have a name for.

And despite herself, she glanced back over her shoulder toward the mirror to see his big frame wrapped around her bared body just as he administered another tingling spank that gave her matching pink cheeks.

She instinctively reached to cover herself, but he caught her hands in one of his and with the other began tracing a soothing fingertip path across the imprint left by his palm.

"What a lovely little peach of a bottom you have, Kate," he whispered. "A lovely little blushing peach. Just waiting for me to taste it," and he dropped to his knees, turned her slightly and brushed his soft lips in feather-light kisses across her smarting flesh.

And her last coherent thought - before she sank beside him on the floor with a sigh of surrender - was to wonder where she might discretely purchase a very suitable hair brush.


End file.
